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“You on your knees under my desk turned me on more than you know,” he said, cupping my cheek with his hand, “and what happened just now only added to it. I suspect it did for you too.”
I bit my lip and looked down, and he chuckled softly.
“The only difference is, I can make you do something about it.”
My head shot up. “What do you mean?”
He tossed my bed clothes into a pile on his chair. “I mean that not only did you take control back there, but you tried to gain pleasure for yourself. The lesson wasn’t about that, Amy. It was about learning to give pleasure without receiving pleasure in return.”
My cheeks heated. “You wouldn’t make me do that after… after what just happened.”
“Of course I would. What’s more, I’m going to. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”
As he unzipped himself, I stood shaking in front of him, not out of fear but rage. His raised an eyebrow at me expectantly, and I knew I was on a precipice: I could either play his game, or I could walk away. I didn’t know what Dallon suspected I would do, but I knew what he wanted me to do. I could see it in his eyes—it wasn’t just something he wanted, it was something he needed.
So I kneeled in front of him and heard his answering sigh as I took him in my mouth again. I ran my tongue up the shaft and into the slit at the top, then sucked gently at its tip.
“Good girl.” Dallon’s voice was deep, both hands moving into my hair.
Spurred on, I moved faster.
“You look unbelievable sexy right now,” he said with a groan, and I remembered that we were in front of the mirror. What an image we must have made: him in a suit and me naked in front of him, sucking him off. To my embarrassment, the throb between my legs grew stronger, hotter. What had Dallon done to me?
He climaxed and I swallowed quickly, the stories Sam had told me about the taste proving to be true. Still, as I stood on shaky legs, there was no denying that it hadn’t affected me; I could feel the wetness between my legs.
Dallon tided himself and then passed me my clothes, his demeanor almost business-like. “Have a warm shower but don’t touch yourself. I’m going to make us breakfast.”
With that, he strolled out of the room.
***
I’d only touched myself a few times before, a long, long time ago. Now I desperately wanted to but it wasn’t allowed.
In the shower, I washed between my legs gently, careful not to stimulate myself too much. Even the water trickling down my body or hitting me in certain spots put me in danger of unraveling.
He wanted me needy, and that’s what I was.
My mind traveled to how I’d felt in his study, the way letting him use me had made me feel. How could it be? From the very beginning, Dallon had been able to sense in me something that I hadn’t recognized in myself, or else something that I couldn’t face. The reason I was still here, that I had agreed to try for one day, was because I knew what Dallon could give me. He wasn’t forcing me to be submissive; in the end, I had all the power because I could simply say no. I had obeyed him in there because nothing had made me feel as aroused or strong as subjugating myself to Dallon King.
And when I submitted to him, he fell apart.
I toweled dry and pulled on my robe to enter the kitchen. Dallon was just finishing frying up bacon and on the counter were two plates with eggs and fruit.
“Go rest in the dining room,” he told me, not glancing up.
The table was already set. When I sat down, I winced—I hadn’t realized how sore I was. I fiddled with my fork until Dallon arrived and placed a plate in front of me.
“I wanted to make you breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
I forked a blackberry and put it in my mouth. Dallon was watching me intently.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” I hesitated. “No… Sir.”
The right side of his mouth turned up slightly. He still hadn’t touched his meal. “How do you feel?”
“Sore.”
“Good. That was the point. The discomfort will remind you not to pull something like that again the future.” He lifted his fork and tapped it against his bottom lip, studying me thoughtfully. “How else do you feel?”
I squirmed a little. “Frustrated.”
He chuckled. “That wasn’t my intention at first, but a happy consequence nevertheless.”
“Hmph.” I stabbed another blackberry.
“If you want to know, I think you did very well.”
I froze before scooping my eggs, looked up at him through my lashes. “You do?”
“Yes. You took your punishment in stride and you were very… attentive.” He smirked, one side of his mouth turning up.
“Thank you. Sir.”
He chuckled again. “No need to call me that now, though it makes me hard every time you do. Eat up.”
Finally, he began work on his own plate. He was still wearing his suit and still looked strong, dangerous and powerful. Dark and Dangerous.
“So why did you have two calls this morning?”
“Oh, just some deals we’re working on.”
“Why the video call?”
“I find I’m more persuasive in person,” he winked.
I put down my fork. “You didn’t just say that.”
He shrugged and turned to his food again. “When you find something that works, use it.”
“So you admit that part of your success comes from people not being able to say no to you?”
“Thank God for women in the workplace,” he grinned.
“Ugh!” I shook my head in disgust, but I was smiling too.
“I have something for you,” he said, his expression serious. From his inside jacket pocket, he produced a small blue box with a white bow, pushed it across the table toward me.
My heart pounded in my chest. It was a Tiffany box. I looked up at him, and I must have looked panicked, because he smirked.
“Open it.”
With shaky hands, I untied the white ribbon, placed it on the table. Holding my breath, I opened the box. Inside was a small blue pouch, not the velvet ring box I’d been expecting, and I exhaled in a rush, feeling silly for making assumptions. Turning the pouch over, I emptied its contents into my hand: a silver heart-shaped lock on a chain.
I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Dallon. It’s very pretty.”
He w
as still studying me with that serious expression. “It’s symbolic.”
“You have the key to my heart?”
“Something like that.” He stood up and moved behind me to put it around my neck. “It’s a collar.”
I frowned. A collar? Maybe he’d meant choker, but it was too long to be considered that.
He returned to his seat, steepled his fingers on the surface of the table. “For a moment there, you wondered if it was a ring.”
I reddened and looked down. “Not actually.”
“It’s okay. It was a natural reaction.” He continued carefully, his eyes never leaving me. “This isn’t a ring, but it has a similar symbolic meaning. There was once a tradition that wearing a collar with an open padlock indicated that one was seeking a Dominant partner, and wearing a collar with a closed padlock indicated one was taken.”
Understanding settled in. This was his new age version of a collar.
“This is just for us. I want you to know you are mine.”
“I thought you dislike labels.”
“I like this one very much.”
My cheeks heated again, and I squirmed in my feet at the intensity in his gaze. The lock pendant suddenly felt hot against my skin. A symbol that I belonged to him.
“What about you?” I whispered. “What will you wear?”
His lips quirked up at the side, but his eyes weren’t smiling, and he didn’t respond. Apparently the tradition was only for the submissive to wear something. The collar. My throat suddenly felt dry and I took a sip of my water, wondering how I would have felt about wearing the necklace if he’d told me what it symbolized first.
As if sensing my thoughts, he said, “It means a lot for a Dominant to give a collar. It’s a symbol of protection, respect, and…” He took a deep breath. “Love.”
My head snapped up. Love.
He closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I know it’s soon, Amy, and perhaps I can’t know the meaning of the word, being who I am. But this is the strongest I’ve ever felt for anybody, and I want to make that official, in my own way. I want this with you.” When he opened his eyes again, I could see his vulnerability and need. It was in the slight shine of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. He wasn’t breathing.
